


Something Good

by GLuisa88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ghost Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GLuisa88/pseuds/GLuisa88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's off on a hunt, leaving Sam alone. Except, there's Dean and well, that's a whole different problem in itself. Based on the prompt: ”Weechesters. John is off on a hunt and something (supernatural) is wrong with Dean. Dean doesn’t realize it, but Sam does.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Good

Perhaps most startling, Dean doesn't know.  
  
How can he not know?  
  
Sam should tell him, he really should tell _somebody_. But what if he doesn’t have to? What if they can just pretend? It could be like normal, like before. 

Why does Dean have to know?

  
**Before**  
  
Dad is gone. He’d left three days ago. He hadn’t told Sam where he was going but Sam knew anyway.  
  
Sam had begged to go along, he could help, he’d said.  
  
“Don’t leave me alone.”  
  
He wanted revenge just as much as John did. Hell, maybe even more, he thinks. John had been unusually understanding, unusually gentle with Sam.  
  
“No Sam,” he’d said, “Stay here. I need you to stay here. I can’t risk losing you.”  
  
And Sam hadn’t the energy to fight him on it.  
  
…  
  
Sam wants to die.  
  
John shouldn’t have left him alone. He really, really shouldn’t have left him alone. Not right now, not now.  
  
First day after John leaves, Sam doesn’t even get out of bed. Doesn’t really care to, even if he did have the energy. He clutches the amulet in his hand, feels the cool metal against his fingers. It digs an angry red imprint in his palm.  
  
…  
  
 _Whoomph._ A pillow slams into his head.  
  
“Sammy,” the voice pierces his sleep, “Sammy, get your fat ass outta bed. You’re gonna be late for school.”  
  
Dean.  
  
Sam jerks up.  
  
His head pounds, and he can feel blood pulsing behind his eye. The sun is too bright and Dean’s voice is too loud and the room is too cold.  
  
“I’m awake,” He says grinding his palm into his eye.  
  
Dean’s face is suddenly in front of his, eyes wide and concerned, “Hey Sam, how ‘bout you tell me what’s wrong?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You look like shit. You didn’t have your alarm set to wake you up for school.”  
  
Sam just stares, open mouthed at his brother. Doesn’t know what to say.  
  
He’s dreaming.  
  
Or was he dreaming before?  
  
The amulet dangles from Dean’s neck.  
  
Sam reaches his hand under his pillow, the amulet is right where he’d left it the night before. He turns his eyes back to his brother.  
  
“I’m fine,” he forces out. “I’m fine.”  
  
…  
  
Dean can’t wrap his head around Sam not going to school.  
  
“Don’t feel like it,” Sam tells him. More like he’d dropped out. Last semester of highschool and he’d dropped out. Whatever.  
  
“What? Geek boy playin’ hooky?”  
  
“Looks like.”  
  
“Yeah, something’s wrong with you,” Dean says.  
  
…  
  
Sam needs a shower.  
  
But Sam can’t let Dean out of his sight. More like, won’t. This is some sort of dream and Sam thinks that if he breathes wrong, it will all vanish.  
  
Dad calls.  
  
He wants to know how Sam’s holding up.  
  
Sam doesn’t tell him.  
  
…  
  
Dean’s so solid, so real, Sam can pretend that nothing’s wrong at all.  
  
Sam wonders if he’s going crazy.  
  
They watch movies all day. There’s a Back to the Future marathon running and they sit together and throw chips in each other’s hair. Sam lets his hand rest on Dean’s knee the entire time and if Dean thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t say anything.  
  
…  
  
Another day and it’s like the previous one hadn’t happened at all.  
  
“Why aren’t you goin’ to school?” Dean asks.  
  
“Don’t wanna,” Sam answers.  
  
“Geek boy’s playing hooky??”  
  
Sam turns to stare at his brother.  
  
“Something’s wrong with you,” Dean tells him.  
  
…  
  
John calls again. Sam reaches for the phone but Dean is faster. Throws himself over Sam’s lap and pulls the phone from Sam’s hand. Sam flinches as Dean’s fingers dig into his wrists, tries not to cry out in pain.  
  
When Dean pulls away, his fingerprints remain branded onto Sam’s skin where Dean’s icy fingers had burned him.  
  
“Hey dad,” Dean answers the phone. “It’s me… Dean. What? Sam? Alright, hang on.”  
  
Dean looks over at Sam, “He wants to talk to you.”  
  
Sam stares at the phone. It feels heavy in his hand.  
  
His stomach twists up in knots.  
  
No.  
  
Dad left him alone so Dad can screw himself.  
  
Sam hangs up the phone and throws it against the wall. “Fuck Dad,” He tells Dean.  
  
Dean just stares at him as if he’s gone insane. Whatever. Maybe he has.  
  
…  
  
“Geek boy’s playing hooky?”  
  
Sam forces a grin, “Yep, guess I am.”  
  
…  
  
Sam has nightmares.  
  
In them, he’s angry, so angry and he’s punching and screaming. Bones break beneath his fists, the bloody face beneath his hands is unrecognizable.  
  
John pulls him away and when he looks down, it’s Dean. He’s killed Dean.  
  
He wakes up, the room is cold. It’s dark but he can see Dean watching him.  
  
…  
  
His phone doesn’t ring anymore. The screen is cracked and it barely lights up when he tries to turn it on. Fine. Whatever. Dad can’t call him, check up on him to make sure he’s alright.  
  
But Sam’s got Dean, right?  
  
He’s got Dean.  
  
…  
  
John returns, looking empty and hollow save for the fire in his eyes.  
  
The door is locked and he pounds until Sam opens it up.   
  
John takes one look at Dean standing in the corner, grabs Sam by the shirt collar and drags him into the other room.  
  
“What the _hell_ did you do?” He yells, his voice sounding weak and cracked, his breath smelling like whiskey.  
  
“I didn’t do anything!” Sam yells back, trying to pull back from his dad’s grip. He sees stars when John backhands him in the ear.  
  
“Get the hell away from Sam!”  
  
And suddenly John is flying across the room, back slamming into the wall behind him. Sam winces and tries not to see the crack in the plaster his dad’s body had left.  
  
“Dean,” Sam sobs, “It’s okay,” he placates. “Stop. Just stop.”  
  
…  
  
Dean knew his way around a bar, comfortable with a cue in his hand since he’d been old enough to see over the top of a pool table.  
  
And he was a cocky son of a bitch, shooting off his mouth, pushing, pushing, pushing until somebody snapped.  
  
And when they did, he’d fight till his knuckles were bloody and his teeth were bleeding but he always came out on top. Exultant and terrifyingly exhilarated.  
  
Didn’t think there was anyone who could beat him, until one day there was. Maybe he’d had one drink too many, maybe he just got overly confident. Maybe it was just that this guy had buddies.  
  
Dean was tough, but not tough enough to hold his own against three ex-cons with chips on their shoulders and teardrops tattooed on their faces.  
  
Sam watched it all happen.  
  
Tried to pull Dean away, tried to knock the men down.  
  
He’d always blame himself that he couldn’t.  
  
…  
  
Dad had burned Dean’s bones. It’s what Dean would want, he said when Sam begged him not to.  
  
But Dad had been wrong because here Dean is.  
  
Dad tries to figure out what Dean’s still attaching himself to. Sam knows but he’s not telling.  
  
…  
  
He’s just going to take the Impala and go. The amulet hangs around his neck and he never removes it.  
  
Dad wants Dean to move on, Sam doesn’t know why Dean has to.  
  
Why can’t he have this? Why can’t something be good for a change.  
  
Why does it have to be a _bad_ thing?  
  
…  
  
Sam takes the car, “I’m not letting you go, Dean,” He says. 


End file.
